Routine
by xXxIntoTheDarknessxXx
Summary: Maxxie has a new routine now, and its not just about dancing anymore. Down the track has been merged into it, as well as a concluding chapter-probably worth mentioning. Rated for language, drinking, drugs...rated because its skins. Tell me what you think
1. Routine

Warning: eating disorder, drama, drugs, swearing. Well, it IS skins.

Story:

I love this dizzy light headed feeling when at the same time my head is thumping with every step. The sweating is not attractive though, but it means I've been working out and dancing enough to lose weight. It also means I haven't eaten too much.

Maybe its not healthy for me, I don't really care. But neither is working out all the time and nobody says anything about that. I look better though, so I can handle the dizzy spells and the nearly fainting. I trip over, or fall down from pure exhaustion, which ever, it doesn't really matter, and reach for my water. 3 sips only, then back to dancing. Another half an hour, then I can break again for a few more sips.

It's winter and the heater's busted. It doesn't work at all. Yet here I am sweating and overheating, but it doesn't matter if I can feel my muscles burning, fatigue setting in. I can see the improvement in my technique every day when I dance in the studio.

I'll get a few hours sleep and cover the bags under my eyes with make-up. I'm an actor in my spare time, not just a dancer, no-one's going to notice. But not before I work another hour and a half. One hour working out and an hour's dance just isn't enough; and the more I sleep, the less I work out. The less I work out, the less weight I lose.

Keeping my grades up is easy. It's not like I care, but it keeps mum and dad off my back. It doesn't take long to do my coursework if I get up a couple of hours early and clear my head by dancing first. My schedule:

5:00. Run to studio, dance for an hour and a half. Run home, shower. 7:00. Coursework, piece of fruit, half a glass of water. 9:30. College, spliff for energy. 3:00. Work out, dance. Home to shower. (7:00) Piece of fruit, half a glass of water, go out clubbing with the group, get home late. (12:00) Fall into bed, start again.

I think it's the adrenaline that keeps me going. That and the occasional shag. About once a week on a sunday I'll sleep in 'till 12 and go for a run and a skate instead, maybe even eat a full meal, smoke a cigarette and have one drink. But only if I'm happy with the week before. Only if my muscles burn, I can barely move and someone's asked if I've lost any weight or been trying to buff up. They're the good weeks.

I go back to my dancing, pausing to take my three sips half and hour later after a bad pirouette. I'll weigh myself tonight. I'll go easy on myself for one night. I completed two assignments this morning. History and Psychology. Not that mum and dad had a clue, they were out of town for the weekend, gone to visit the family. I, secretly worried my routine would go out the window, stayed behind with the premise of coursework to be done.

An hour later, I head into the change rooms and weigh myself while I'm at it. I've lost two pounds this week, and its only thursday. Still two days left. Running towards home as fast as I could until my legs nearly gave out on me, I paused, reaching the estate, taking the lift up to my floor. I walked along the corridor until I reached my door and grabbed my keys from my bag, closing the door behind me as I walked into the bathroom for a shower.

Emerging dressed and ready to go, I decided on a real fruit smoothie instead of a piece of fruit and my half glass of water. This was delicious change, but something so heavy on my stomache made me want to throw up. Never again, then.

I figured fuck it, once I reached the group I could drink and do pills like always, just chuck it back up. Shots were my undoing though; I got far too wasted to remember to chuck up after I drank them until I was chucking up because of them.

Jal took my keys from my pocket and let us both into my flat. Putting me into bed, taking off my shoes as she did, she climbed in behind me, carding her fingers through my hair and telling me what a stupid idea it was to get so incredibly wasted, with the combination of alcohol and whatever present Chris has handed out for us to take already in my system.

The next morning I wake up, vaguely aware of Jal asleep next to me, feeling incredibly hung over and wondering what time it was. 10:37 my alarm clock said. I shook Jal roughly, just the slightest bit annoyed that I'd already lost valuable time making up for last night, vowing to skip my sunday routine for my monday to saturday to make up for it.

'Jal. Get up, already. It's nearly eleven!' 'Jesus christ Maxxie!' Jal snapped at me, checking her wrist watch. 'That's what it said last night when you tripped over the cord and pulled it out. I plugged it back in when I got up for the bathroom and didn't set it. It's only 7:15, go back to sleep.' 'No chance of that. Do you know how early I got wasted? I must have drank a shitload.' 'Try a load of shots and whatever pills Chris was pushing.' 'That would explain the hangover; and that's why I have to go dance. It always makes me feel better.' Or like I'm about to pass out, but what does that matter? Why split hairs, right?

'Maxxie, you've been working out non-stop lately. Give it a rest for a change. I'm starting to think you have issues like Cassie. All this excercise, the drugs, the alcohol. But no food and nearly no sleep.' If only you really knew what was going on in my mind. On second thoughts, I'm glad you don't. I'd never hear the end of it. 'I just like to dance, Jal. It's not a crime, is it?' What does it really matter to her if I HAVE lost weight lately, anyway?

'Alright, show me some steps, then. What? It's not a crime to see why you love it so much, is it?' 'No. I guess not.'

So we head over to the studio. I figure fuck course work, skipping it once wont kill me. Once again, I dance until my muscles burn, my lungs burn, and I'm almost too tired to move. Jal stopped ages ago. The routine I showed her was way too fast and she hadn't the energy, stopping to drink every 10 minutes.

It was weeks after that before somebody else noticed and said anything. Jal never took up dancing. She did try a few times though, to her credit. But she said grinding up against Chris in a club was more her thing.

After 12 weeks of this routine, Cassie noticed what I was doing, and had no reservations about telling me so. 'So what if I AM trying to lose weight, Cass? You never eat anything at all. So you really can't talk.' She never did catch on that I was the one sending messages saying 'eat'. 'I'm not going to. It's cute really. Little Maxxie trying to be even littler Maxxie. It's not going to make him want you, you know. Cute, skinny blonde is his thing, but without a cock, Maxxie. Give up the spliff. Sid's never going to want you like he wants me.'

Ouch. That hurt. But she's probably right. Not only could Sid never want me, who'd be interested in me? For longer than a one night stand. That night I check myslef out in the mirror. I can still barely see my ribcage. But that's more about muscle than fat. I'm buff, skinny, blonde, and cute. Not enough though. Not skinny enough either. But surely Cassie's wrong about one thing?

Sid spends have his time ignoring her, the other half wanking off about Michelle. Maybe she's wrong, and he doesn't want either of us. I could handle that, but if he really loved her? No, he doesn't. He couldn't. No-one's got a clue how often we talk on the phone. How much of his coursework I helped him with this year. How much I love him. Except Cassie. She sees everything. But no-body's got a clue. No one knows I was there for him when Michelle got back with Tony.

That night, I went over to Sid's and we got high instead of going out with the gang. I took a risk under cover of being high on spliff and kissed him. 'What the fuck, Maxxie?. I'm not...not gay you know. Get off me.' 'Sorry, Sid. I'm just a little too high, yeah?' 'Yeah. Right mate. Maybe we can do this coursework now?' Sid bowed his head over his paper and picked up a pencil. 'Yeah, sure.' And that was that. He wasn't into me. At all.

Fuck Cassie. 'What about Cassie? You're into her right?' 'Not Cassie. Never Cassie. She comes and goes from Scotland with no warning, crushes my heart every time. I told her go fuck herself, drugged up little whore.' That explains the split in the group then. We get on with our history assignment, and Cassie isn't brought up again. So he doesn't love either of us. I can live with that.

Still, I soon head off to the gym, open late now, and work out 'till the sweat pours down my face, my lungs and muscles burn, and I can hear the blood rush in my ears. Then it all goes black. Sounds and sights go blurry and muffled until nothing. Then I blink and all I can hear is machines beeping. I lift my hand, and the IV needle sticks me. Shit.

Maybe I have been over doing it. 3 hours workout and a diet like mine. Maybe I do have issues. As for my issues with people: Jal was right. Cassie was half right. Sid didn't love me. As for Anwar, he can go fuck himself. Fucking hypocritical homophobic prick.

Oh well, I'll live. Always do. That's just my routine.


	2. Down The Track

It's been eight months now, since Sid rejected me. Anwar hasn't spoken to me, Cassie is still wrong to this day, and Jal is still right. I did have issues. Big ones. Not just the extreme diet and excercise. But with binging on pills and alcohol and chucking it back up. The smoking spliff for energy, the drinking next to nothing bar a few sips of water. The lack of sleep.

It all added up to a very bad ending if I kept going the way I was. When Jal came to see me that time after I passed out in the gym and told me what a stupid bastard I'd been I'd woken up. I'd gotten counselling, started eating, stopped taking pills and drinking. Stopped binging, gave up the spliff. I cut down on the working out, dancing twice a week at most.

Most of my "mates" dissappeared. I expected that. But Jal stuck by me, so did Sid. Surprisingly, so did Chris. Giving up (mostly) on the spliff, drink and drugs, they've been great support for me. I won't lie though. It's been hell, every step. It wasn't a complete change, right away. It couldn't happen overnight.

I started with the drugs and alcohol. Then I began sleeping more, eating more. A few weeks after that I change my work out habits. Slowly, but I did it. I still have a smoke every now and then, though. a sneaky spliff every now and then, too. Less often than the cigarettes.

I have a boyfriend now. This guy called James I know. Met him at college. Totally different classes though. He knows why I'm so careful about drink and drugs and working out and food. He's okay with it. It's been three months since we met and things are looking up by the day.

I have a new routine now; a new man and a new look on life. Never made it up with Cassie though. She took off to America and never came back. I feel happier and healthier, and getting out of bed without wanting to collapse is a good thing. So is not having everything burn, fade and blur around me until they crash and burn. Be it my body, my senses, or my heart.

I guess things have changed now. For the better.


	3. The Rest Of The Story

Looking back over the last year and a half, if I really stop to think about it for a while, about everything, I can figure it all out.

Take the drinking and the drugs for example. I was lightweight before the eating problems. I tried not to get trashed very often; then, it was easy for me to pretend to be trashed and chuck it all back up in the toilets almost as quickly as I took the drugs or skulled the drink. It helped me to pretend that nothing was going on.

The sleeping was more of a time thing, really. More sleep meant less time for my problems. Which really could have only been a good thing, not that I knew it then. But I worked out that five hours a night was the minimun amount of sleep that I could go on, and stuck to it.

The eating was a weight control thing, especially the water. It was easy enough to avoid bloating or slowing my metabolism if I kept consuming water or fruit more than once a day. The workouts were a way to control how my body looked. As for the dancing, well, it's easy enough to pass it off as just my passion. But it was a sneaky way to get the exercise. I was twice as careful about the amount of water I was drinking while I was exercising compulsively.

As for why; well, I'm not really sure, but I wasn't happy with how I looked, or how I treated my body. But, trying to fix that, I just ended up doing much worse to it. I felt even worse after I woke up to what I was doing and realised I needed help than I did when I was actually hurting myself with my ED.

James knows about the ED, but I haven't told him any details. He doesn't need to know them. He has learned small bits of information about it. That was when I almost relapsed, when I did relapse, when I had bad days, the morning after I got completely shit faced and ended up hungover and almost an hour late to meet him.

He wont tell me what he really thinks of all this, just says he loves me and pulls me in for a hug whenever the subject comes up. I can't honestly say I blame him, but I'd still really like to know what he thinks about it. But I try not to push it. He's been really great with all of this, even when I said I couldn't be in a relationship after I relapsed, and the times when I came near...he's stuck by me through that giving me space when I needed it, and trying not to show how he feels when I push him away.

I honestly couldn't tell you why he stays. He says it's because he loves me. I love him too, but the boy's a fool. He basically lets me and my issues turn our relationship off and on like a leaky tap. I hate that I do it, but when I'm more vulnerable, I hate to let him see me like that.

My counsellor is always telling me the last thing I need a romantic relationship; whenever I do or almost relapse, whenever I begin to have doubts. But once I'm back on track again, there he is, prepared to be with me if I want and go at my pace. I won't pretend like we haven't had our issues. Him never telling me how he feels or what he's thinking, and my constantly pushing him away causes tension and friction, but I've never once asked him to stay.

In fact, I've told him more than once to forget about us and find someone stable. I met him at the worst possible time in my life, yet these are the best years of his, and he chooses to stand by me, and risk letting me drag him down.

These past 18 months have been hell, and James has been heaven, but somewhere, somehow, they even each other out. Kind of like me and James. I'm fucked up inside, but he's been perfect. Overall it's been a balancing game, and a bit of a struggle, but I haven't even come close to a relapse in the past 4 months. I think I can finally say I'm getting better, with confidence, for the first time in a long time.

FIN


End file.
